


Sweet Little Thing

by maplemeowzipan



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Hurt/Comfort, No Drug Usage, Other, Reader is mentally ill, Reader is not Frisk or Chara, context? what's that, drug mention, exposition? never heard of her, gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 13:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maplemeowzipan/pseuds/maplemeowzipan
Summary: Instead of responding, you rolled over, burying your face in the fabric of his shirt rather than staring at the room. There was nothing to lean against but his spine, so you turned your head slightly into his legs instead, reached up to wrap both arms around his torso. He was wearing his thick jacket today, the faux-leather one with the fur-trimmed hood, and it gave you something to hold on to. Papyrus rumbled pleasantly and cupped the back of your skull, and you closed your eyes as he ran his thumb over your cheekbone and let out a light, breathy laugh.“Yer cute,” he mumbled offhandedly.





	Sweet Little Thing

**Author's Note:**

> sobs. i'm on a papyrus kick. this might just turn into a place for me to post papyrus-centric one-shots. mainly sf!papyrus, because i'm love him. i guess we'll find out if i ever update this again.
> 
> anyway, this is. a little self-indulgent. orz don't look at me.

“Hey,” Papyrus spoke up softly, gloved claws scratching gently against your scalp. The silence had been stretching on for almost an hour, now, and you felt awful.

You were laying sideways across his lap, facing the room even though the TV was off. When he'd tried to watch something earlier, your headache had started pounding so badly that you'd ended up hissing at him to turn it off, though you'd felt bad only seconds later. The guilt had only made you angrier, your bad mood swarming like a hive of bees inside your skull, and you had tried to go to your room, to isolate yourself, but Papyrus had stopped you. He had tugged you back onto the couch, gently coaxed you down into his lap, and now, well...

Here you were.

“I don't wanna get high,” you were mumbling into his pant leg, mouth brushing against the frayed material of his jeans. Somehow, the front of every pair of pants he owned got torn up quickly, even the ones you'd bought with him at the thrift shop only a few weeks ago. You never saw it happen, but you wondered if he picked at them on purpose with those sharp claws of his, the ones he always covered with gloves; so he couldn't scratch anyone, so he couldn't see them. A stray thread caught between your lips, but you didn't bother spitting it back out. You continued to glare tiredly at the coffee table, and he chuckled.

“S'not what I was gonna say,” he went on quietly, moving to smooth your hair back and humming. “Wanted t'say I'm proud a'you.” You bristled, shooting a glare at the ceiling out of the corner of your eye in lieu of turning your head, snorting.

“Why?” you muttered, thinking he was setting you up for something, even though you knew he would never do something like that. He hummed again.

“Y'didn't lose yer temper back there,” he said, fingers pausing for only a second before they trailed to your jaw, gentle claws tracing your skin lightly. He was referring to what happened earlier today, before the two of you got home. You suddenly felt drained. “Could tell y'wanted to....”

“I've been snapping at you all afternoon,” you replied in a dull voice, feeling something tighten in your chest. He made a fond noise somewhere deep in his ribs.

“Nah,” he said, “maybe it feels that way... but m'pretty sure you only snapped at me twice.”

You paused, thinking. Instead of responding, you rolled over, burying your face in the fabric of his shirt rather than staring at the room. There was nothing to lean against but his spine, so you turned your head slightly into his legs instead, reached up to wrap both arms around his torso. He was wearing his thick jacket today, the faux-leather one with the fur-trimmed hood, and it gave you something to hold on to. Papyrus rumbled pleasantly and cupped the back of your skull, and you closed your eyes as he ran his thumb over your cheekbone and let out a light, breathy laugh.

“Yer cute,” he mumbled offhandedly, and you hid your face against his shirt so he wouldn't see the way the corners of your mouth turned sharply down, the way your brows creased in irritation. You wanted to lay with him a while longer, so even though every awful impulse in your brain was screaming for you to say something shitty, you kept your mouth tightly closed, literally biting your tongue between your canines to keep yourself from speaking, grounding yourself with the sharp pain.

“I'm angry,” you said eventually, when you could trust yourself not to lash out at him, not to push him away and hurt him so he wouldn't come back. You tasted iron, focused on the feeling of his claws against your hair, the way they trailed down the side of your face, then back up to trace the shell of your ear. “I'm so fucking _angry_ , right now.” Your voice sounded a little strained, wavering with some complex emotion.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, gloved phalanges stilling and traveling to your neck, raising gooseflesh when he traced careful patterns there. You sighed, soothed in spite of yourself, and the tight feeling in your chest constricted, changed, started burning behind your eyes. “Yer doin' a real good job a'not bitin' my head off right now, too.”

You took a shuddering breath, the words you wanted to say sticking in your throat as you curled into him, tightening your grip on his middle. He made a small noise when your arms pressed against his spine through his clothes, but didn't push you away. You slackened your grip anyway, held him loosely again as he huffed out a quiet breath.

“Prickly lil' sweetheart,” he chuckled fondly, voice going soft and fingers going still again, rested against your pulse and pressing down just so. He liked feeling it, liked listening to it when the two of you were cuddling, his skull pressed into the hollow of your throat, or his teeth pressed to your wrist. It made you feel soft, when he did that sort of thing, made you feel so much affection for him that you thought your heart might burst.

Maybe he knew, and that's why he was doing it, now. You felt hot tears trickle out from the corners of your eyes, and you curled up a little further as a sadness shot through you, writhing around in your chest like snakes, like vines, and prickling like thorns. You made a soft, sad sound, and he let out another gentle huff, tutting.

“Aw,” he cooed, and you felt him shift, one hand settling on your shoulder, the other lifting to rest against your scalp. He hummed affectionately, and when he spoke, his voice was very close, breath ghosting against the side of your face, ruffling loose strands of hair lightly. “Hey, don't cry... Sweet lil' thing.”

You only cried harder when he said that, feeling like such a piece of shit for every negative, vicious thought you'd had about him in the past few hours. You _hadn't_ meant it, you _didn't_ mean it, and he didn't even know what you'd been thinking, but you still felt so fucking terrible. You didn't deserve him. Didn't deserve _this_ , but you clutched his jacket anyway, felt greedy as you cried into his shirt and let him pet your hair, his other hand moving to rub circles against your back.

“Don't be sad,” he murmured, bumping your cheekbone with his nasal ridge, drawing tiny circles just below your eyelashes.

“Thank you,” you keened into the wet fabric of his shirt, “I'm sorry.” He let out a quiet, sympathetic sound. His teeth brushed against the side of your face, and you choked on a sob, then inhaled a sharp breath, fingers curling tighter into his jacket. “Thank you,” you said again, voice sounding more like a garbled whine than a coherent thought.

“Hey,” his voice was so quiet, so gentle, barely more than a murmur. He moved his hand back to your shoulder, then pushed you gently away from him, and you let go of him immediately, withdrew your arms with an apology on your tongue, ready to leave the room and cry somewhere else. You knew you were pushing your luck, clinging to him like this, knew it was only a matter of time before–

He rolled you onto your back and pressed down on your shoulder, soft gaze hooded, violet eye lights trained on your face. You sniffled and let him hold you there, reached up to hide your miserable face in your hands, and he hummed.

“Lemme see,” he said, voice breathy, almost a whisper. He tugged at your wrists, but didn't pull them away– you did that for him, moving your hands away from your face and letting him hold them up, your arms limp in his hold. He chuckled. “Aw,” he breathed, leaned down further and let his sockets slip shut, brushed his teeth against your wet cheeks. “S'alright,” he was saying, teeth barely twitching against your skin, and you felt your expression twist as you cried, hitching breaths your only response.

“Shhh,” he switched to your other cheek, moved to the corner of your eye to catch the fresh tears as they fell. You hiccuped another sob, and he pressed your hands against your middle, lifted his hand to trace the line of your jaw up and down with the tips of gloved claws. “Don't cry... don't be sad.”

You stayed like that for quite some time, until your crying calmed down and your breathing evened out.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured while he nuzzled you, voice still so low and careful. “My sweetheart.” He didn't pull away, even when you had stopped sniffling, reaching up to cradle his skull gently between your hands, eyes shut against the feather-light pressure of his sharp teeth, moving so carefully you knew he'd never so much as nick you with them.

“S'okay,” he was whispering, sighing and pressing his teeth against your eyelid, then kissing the other one as well. You felt yourself smile, and he let out a tiny, pleased sound. “There ya go,” he murmured, peppering your face with careful skeleton kisses. “There it is.”

“Thank you,” you said again, leaning up to kiss the corner of his jaw, and he hummed pleasantly, nuzzling your face and folding himself over farther to tuck his skull into the crook of your neck. You giggled, kissing his scalp, and he let out a quiet chuckle, gloved claws still caressing the side of your face.

“Anytime,” was all he said, pressing himself further into the warm column of your throat.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
